


Rummaging

by 9_miho



Category: DAHL Roald - Works, Discworld - Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Hetalia: Axis Powers, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Hetalia Kink Meme, Multiple Crossovers, Slice of Life, a wizard is never late, british literature
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-08 01:19:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1921251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/9_miho/pseuds/9_miho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hetalia Kink Meme: <i>As the title says, a Nation and a popular fictional character/element from a story written by their citizen. It can be anyone or anything, even Greece/Norway talking to their gods or England coming into possession of a ring that somehow calls creepy riders to his whereabouts. </i></p><p> </p><p>Monday, England is hunting through mixed milk jugs and sugar bowls in the local charity shop when he finds a certain ring in a sugar bowl without a lid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rummaging

Monday, England is hunting through mixed milk jugs and sugar bowls in the local charity shop when he finds a certain ring in a sugar bowl without a lid.

He feels the power that hums in the ring (earth rock and stone and foundations of the world, the roots that run deep into the earth’s fiery core) as he considers the heavy band with its red stone. There is a compulsion to put it on but it is tailored for ears that are not his and it has a grating artificiality, like aspartame on the tongue. He sighs to himself, pays a few quid for it and a milk jug shaped like a cow and heads back home after buying a bottle of red wine and a box of assorted biscuits.

The ring goes in an envelope on the mantelpiece and he proceeds to forget about it.

Tuesday, England is out early to prune the roses when he finds a silvery Invisibility Cloak caught on the back privet. He detangles it, the silk like a sigh against his fingers, and shakes it out until its tears and snags tighten and heal.

It is a quite selfish thing to do but he runs his fingers along the cloth several times, feeling like he has somehow captured a bit of the fog on the moors or the stuff of thunderclouds or rippling waves on a horizon. Then he shakes it out again several times and leaves it neatly folded on the back gate and goes back in to have a second breakfast of a soft boiled egg and soldiers.

As he is refilling his cup from pot, he looks through the kitchen window to see a black-haired young man steal up to the back of the gate, grab the cloak and take off on a broomstick, but not before waving his wand and leaving a trail of gold sparks. When England goes back out, he finds a box labeled “Honeydukes’ Finest Assortment.”

Maybe he should have left a note that the skulking wasn’t necessary; but one never knew with James Potter and Sirius Black.

Wednesday, he nearly loses a tooth when biting into a bacon sandwich.

When he opens the pieces of bread, he finds a shield-shaped badge, much worse for wear with the bacon grease and brown sauce. Grumbling all the while, he washes the badge in the sink and dries it and even gives it a little polish until it’s not quite the color of a new penny but something less than verdigris.

He pointedly ignores the little bugger in orange who sneaks in to get it back; at least the back stoop is clean enough to eat off now and the floors practically gleam.

Thursday, he finds an entire box of assorted Wonka bars at the corner shop. To hell with restraint. He’d been teasing the last of his Nutty Crunch Surprise for months. As he goes to pay, he considers the little girl buying a new box of pencils and still having to go on tip toes to reach the counter. A sober face still – but one no longer with the burden of forcing back unhappiness – and he looks away from her.

Friday night, he comes back late from the pub and finds a wizard in his parlor.

“You’re late,” England says flatly despite his best efforts. “And don’t give me that bother about arrival times.” But because he has no inclination to want to be a frog in the pond in the bottom of the garden, he goes to get the red wine.

Gandalf accepts the glass and his hand tucks the envelope inside of his robe. He doesn’t have a “twinkly” expression (half-moon spectacles and better trimmed eyebrows are generally necessary for that effect) but there is a ease to his shoulders that shouldn’t be there when in the presence of both a Ring of Power and the less than forthright

“And I may have some beef liver for the eagle lurking on the back gate,” England adds, taking the first sip of his wine. He never cares much for the stuff on principle but there is something about drinking it in the presence of a wizard. Perhaps a wizard’s magic is wine soluble, he thinks wryly, because he tastes cinnamon and smoke (chemical and charcoal and green wood) and something like preening oil.

Gandalf pulls his pipe from his stick and the bowl flares with a blue flame for a single moment before sending out smoke. He never asks and England never has the heart to tell him not to – not when the house smells for hours after like vanilla and deep woods and sunny fields.

They don’t talk much in these rare visits but England mulls – not broods – in the comfortable silence that a contented wizard can simply exude. He considers the old man and the faint echoes of the ring (a chorus of voices, of pride and power and lineage and the making of the Master Work that will never fade). He thinks of time and space weaving with the space in your head and the space outside of it that formed the space in there.

Gandalf leaves from the back door, giving England a brief but no less sincere smile and a bottle filled with a live diamond tree. England turns the gift this way and that, watching the iridescent fruits on stone branches shivering. He puts it first on his mantelpiece but then he decides to move it to the ledge above the kitchen sink where the sun could catch it better.

**Author's Note:**

> -Based heavily on the short story “Chivalry” by Neil Gaiman, which is about an old lady who finds the Holy Grail at the local thrift shop… and proceeds to treat it as a nice thing to put on the mantelpiece, to the frustrated admiration of Galahad, who comes round to collect it.  
> -The book characters/elements England encounters, in order:  
> Lord of the Rings  
> Harry Potter  
> Discworld  
> Roald Dahl (Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Matilda)  
> Narnia (The Silver Chair))


End file.
